


I'll See You When I Fall Asleep

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Canon Era, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I tagged this Adamant Fortress and used a lyric from Little Talks as the title I think we all know what's going on here</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll See You When I Fall Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: pregnancy, vomit stuff, references to like... mind control, ptsd stuff (purposefully triggering someone, like that), references to sexual abuse, dissociation. alcohol. food. anders. you know, the works. Mostly Just Mentioning things though & not actually heavy on the abuse stuff.
> 
> also there's sex. if you dont want to read about the sex you can skip to the first ~~~. You'll be able to glean the important information from the rest of the fic.
> 
> have fun

Fenris’ breath caught in his throat as Hawke kissed and nipped trails down his neck and shoulders, his chest—grabbing fistfuls of dark hair when Hawke’s fingers curled inside of him and drew out gasps and groans, teasing—

He slid his hands under Hawke’s jaw and urged him upward, to meet his eyes.

“Hawke,” he breathed. “Let’s try for a child.”

His lover’s eyebrows rose, and Fenris could tell he was trying not to smile. “Really?” he asked.

Fenris hummed in affirmation. “I want to know what it feels like.”

Hawke ran his thumb along the inside of Fenris’ thigh, hesitant.

“And if you do end up pregnant…?”

“All the better.”

Then, there was Hawke’s smile—and he shifted up to kiss Fenris, and kiss his forehead and his eyelids and ears and whisper, _I love you_ , as if it needed to be said.

~~~

Fenris traced his finger along the page, the numbers passing by. A month and a week—not anything certain, but a sign, nonetheless.

The door opened, and he looked up, controlled as not to appear startled. It was Hawke, grinning. That probably meant trouble.

Fenris liked trouble.

“Yes, Hawke?” he said, amusement evident in his tone.

“Look what I just got!” Hawke held a piece of paper up for Fenris to see, walking over. Fenris took it. “It’s a letter from Varric,” Hawke explained. Fenris took the opportunity to clear what previously had his attention off the desk, placing the letter down and looking over it. “He’s holed up in the Frostback Mountains and says some Inquisitor could use my advice.”

“ ‘Some Inquisitor?’ “ Fenris questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Very well. When will we leave?”

Hawke’s excitement faltered, and Fenris frowned.

“Well,” started Hawke, carefully. “I thought…it’s not so far away, I’ll be gone for a few weeks at most…there’s really not much need for you to bother.”

“I’m going with you.” It wasn’t anywhere near a question. It was simply a statement of fact.

“Ah,” went Hawke. “Right…well. Tomorrow, I thought. Unless you have plans.”

“Tomorrow,” agreed Fenris.  Then he stood up, and looked Hawke in the eye, placing a finger on his chest. “And if you try to escape tonight without my knowledge,” he jabbed his finger into Hawke’s chest, hard, “I will track you down. And you will regret it.”

Hawke sighed, and leaned down, wrapping his arms around Fenris and holding him tight.

“Will you ever let me keep you safe?” he said, into Fenris’ shoulder.

“No.” Fenris took a moment to extract his arms and place them around Hawke. “I will remain by your side. As long as you insist on running into danger, I will be there to face it with you.”

Hawke sighed, at length, slowly placing more of his weight on Fenris. The elf slid a foot back to brace himself, trying not to laugh at Hawke’s antics.

“Shame on you for being such a wonderful husband,” said Hawke, sullenly. “There’s no way I can ever argue with you about these things.”

~~~

Still. Fenris hardly slept that night, only laying with his arms around Hawke, listening to his steady breathing and trying to shake away the creeping fear that he would close his eyes, and wake up alone.

~~~

Adaar turned around at the sound of the war room door opening, his advisors looking up, as well. Though not forbidden, it wasn’t often people interrupted their strategizing. This was mostly likely something important.

“Your worship,” said the messenger at the doorway. “Two travelers have arrived at the gate. One of them claims to be the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Oh, Maker help us,” Cullen said, under his breath. Adaar glanced at him, briefly, and then addressed the messenger.

“I suppose we should go out to meet him, then.”

~~~

By the time Adaar actually got to the courtyard, he’d accumulated a small gaggle of followers trailing after him, no doubt curious to see if the Champion himself had really shown up. Even if half of them couldn’t place Kirkwall on a map, Varric’s stories had spread far enough that everyone in the fortress had at least _heard_ of Hawke.

Thankfully, Cassandra wasn’t among them. With any luck she wouldn’t catch wind of the Champion’s arrival until after things had calmed down a little bit.

Varric was already there, talking and laughing with the taller of the two visitors—so, Adaar felt fairly confident that this man wasn’t simply _claiming_ to be the Champion.

He walked over, and Varric turned to him.

“Ah! Adaar,” he said. Then, turning to his friends, “Hawke, Fenris, the Inquisitor. Inquisitor, the Champion of Kirkwall and his brooding elf. Did you bring the entire inquisition along with you, too?”

Adaar glanced behind him, smiling sheepishly. “I guess they wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Well, it’s good to meet you, Hawke. Fenris.” He nodded at each of them in turn.

“It’s very good to meet you, too, Inquisitor,” said Hawke, with a hint of amusement. “And I’m sure Fenris feels the same. He’s just not very good with new people.”

At this, the elf elbowed Hawke in the side, with a “ _Hawke_ ,” growled in warning. The Champion laughed, but apologized to him with a kiss on the cheek, which seemed enough to placate him.

“So,” said Hawke, turning back to the Inquisitor. “Where shall we put our horses?”

~~~

Despite Cullen’s initial warning, things stayed more or less peaceful at Skyhold, even with the Champion there. He was a measure friendlier than Adaar had imagined, somehow, and even Fenris seemed quite amicable, once he warmed up to people. According to Bull, he spoke Tevene (expected) and passable Qunlat (less expected) and after the first few days he’d been invited to join the Chargers.

He’d said no, of course, but no doubt the sentiment was appreciated.

~~~

Adaar looked up when Fenris sat down across from him in the main hall, carrying a bowl of what seemed to be a meager amount of vegetables. Not much grew in an environment like Skyhold, but he was glad the elf had found something to his taste, even if Adaar found that taste to be a bit…questionable.

“So, they chose a Qunari to lead the inquisition?”

Ah. Not much one for social niceties, then. Well, that was fine—Adaar had just about had his fill of people trying to hide malintent with smiles.

“I’m not Qunari, exactly. But I’m just as surprised as you are.”

“You’re not Qunari? Andrastian, then?”

Adaar shrugged, and then leaned over, putting his elbows on the table. “I wasn’t anything, before all this,” he said. “I’m not Qunari enough for the Qunari, not human enough for the Chantry…all that along with being a mage, I never felt like there was much of a place for me.”

“Hm,” went Fenris, with no more reaction than the slightest frown. “Perhaps it’s an easier choice for a former slave.”

Adaar smiled, nervously. “It is the Chantry I take issue with, not Andraste herself, I hope you understand…”

Then there was a hand at Adaar’s shoulder, and he looked up to see Dorian, with his Friendly Smile on.

“Oh. Good morning,” said Adaar. “Have you met Fenris yet?”

“Good morning,” replied Dorian. Then, turning to Fenris: “Ah, so you’re this Fenris I’ve been hearing so much about? The way your Champion talks about you, I expected he hardly left your side. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Dorian.”

Fenris had a curious look on his face—turned slightly away and eyes narrowed, searching.

“Dorian…Pavus?” he said.

Dorian frowned. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I shudder to think you’ve heard of me from someone else.”

“No,” said Fenris, outwardly calm but for the steadily tightening grip on the rim of his bowl. “I’ve met your father.”

Dorian’s frown turned into a grimace. “Have you.”

“You look exactly like him.”

“Oh, good,” Dorian said, sarcasm a quick defense. Then, “It’s…” he cleared his throat, “It’s not exactly an association I’m proud of.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment as Fenris steadied a glare at Dorian, jaw set.

Then he stood up, abruptly, nodded at the Inquisitor, and left.

Adaar watched him go, heart sinking. He would have rather avoided internal conflict, especially of this sort, but…

He turned to Dorian and placed a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I have thicker skin than that, thank you.”

Regardless, he leaned on Adaar, letting the Inquisitor put an arm around his waist and pull him close.

“…do _you_ think I look like my father?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Really?”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s rather hard to see past that mustache.”

Dorian laughed, and Adaar grinned, hoping that his attempt at humor was welcome.

“Good!” said Dorian. “Good. Let’s try to keep it that way.”

~~~

Fenris found Hawke still lying in bed in the small room they’d been given, and he crawled in next to him, finding his place at his side.

Hawke put his arms around him, no more than half awake.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said, into Fenris’ hair.

“No.”

They didn’t.

~~~

Fenris, before, had had a fairly good opinion of the Gray Wardens. They were mostly a story to him—he had heard plenty of people who were still of the opinion that the fifth blight hadn’t actually happened, and the Hero of Ferelden was made up, as some sort of…well, he didn’t know for what reason.

In any case, most of what he knew came from the younger Hawke, whose stories he still mostly heard secondhandedly. What stories there were, that is. Evidently there wasn’t much to do without a blight.

And then he heard about the things _his_ Hawke had been getting up to—the missions he led with the Inquisitor.

Fenris had insisted on going along for a while, but Hawke got harder and harder to convince. Then Fenris had gotten sick at one of their encampments, and that was that, as far as Hawke was concerned. And if he was to be honest with himself, Fenris wasn’t much inclined to put up a fight, either.

So Hawke told him stories. Not _proactively_ —but Hawke was never a man for keeping secrets.

If Fenris hadn’t been sick already, the talk of blood magic would have been enough to turn his stomach.

“It sounds too familiar,” he growled, glaring at the ground next to Hawke’s feet. “Demons are bad enough, but binding the minds of their fellow Wardens…” He shook his head, turning upwards to meet Hawke’s eyes. “I’m…frightened. You may not come back again, or…be who you were when you left.”

Hawke frowned for a moment, brow furrowed. Then, apparently finding his answer, shrugged. “I’ve done more dangerous things than this, and with fewer competent people backing me. I won’t say I’m not in danger, because I know better than to lie to you—“ Fenris huffed, trying to ignore the fondness blooming in his chest—“but I think _you’re_ more in danger of dropping dead from worry than I am from blood magic. I would be devastated, you know.”

As a point, he took Fenris’s face and kissed him on his forehead, his eyelids, his nose—his mouth, once he had Fenris smiling enough. Fenris kissed him back, deciding it was a welcome distraction.

“You can’t always kiss me into agreeing with you,” he said, after he’d had his share. Hawke grinned.

“It worked this time, then?”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and kissed him once more, for good measure. “No,” he said, regardless. “I’ve heard talk of a siege planned?”

“It’s only a little one.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “A little siege,” he said, flatly. “You’ll have no problem with me coming along, then.”

Hawke sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to argue with me whether I say it’s dangerous or not.”

“Don’t I always?”

Hawke grinned, head shaking. “Unfortunately. Well, for what it’s worth, I’d rather you stay here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So, where is this fortress we’re invading?”

~~~

As far as sieges go, it was fairly standard. You know, apart from the archdemon thing. Dragons—why was it always dragons? But still, Hawke had dealt with dragons before, and at least the thing was _shaped_ like one, so he wasn’t completely out of his element.

It was when he and their entire group got flung head-first into the Fade that things got a little…well. Turned upside-down. Once he realized he wasn’t dead—or, at least, he still occupied a physical form, or—well. Fenris was there, and Hawke’s feet were on something solid. The issue was Fenris’ feet seemed to be on a _different_ solid thing than Hawke’s were.

Hawke stepped carefully onto what seemed to be the largest flat surface, and stumbled when his perspective shifted to accommodate this new floor.

“That was… _weird_.”

“Tell me about it,” the Iron Bull grumbled, characteristic good humor all dried up after being deposited in the Fade.

“Could we all just…” the Inquisitor looked around, and made a motion with his hands, palms down. “Get standing on the same floor for a moment?”

Fenris was still standing on a wall, parallel to what had been chosen, by popular vote, as the ground, and was staring down (subjectively) at it uneasily.

“…I may need some help with this.”

Hawke obligingly took his hand, (“Try not to throw up on me.” “I won’t make you any promises.”) guiding him through the unpleasant lurch of his feet finding new ground.

It took them a moment to all get there, but eventually all seven of the unfortunate group were more or less circled around the Inquisitor, none looking all too happy about their current situation. Well, Hawke and Alistair were more or less relentlessly not taking things as seriously as they perhaps should be, but even they were starting to feel the wear and tear of the day. Their siege and fade filled day.

“So,” Sera said, movements filled with even more nervous energy than usual, “ _how do we get out of here._ ”

~~~

Trudging through the physical Fade would have been bad enough. The demons would have been bad enough. Travelling with three people who were _very_ nervous around the whole demons/magic thing would have been _bad enough_. But, no, there had to be a fear demon creeping into their heads and pulling out anything it could find to get at them.

Dorian seemed to handle it the best, at first, brushing it off with light comments, but after taunt after taunt found its way to him, eventually he fell silent. Still, a preferable reaction. Sera still had her bow drawn even after minutes of not finding any demons or spiders (eugh) or anything. Her fear was understandable, but Hawke was starting to get sympathy cramps in his arm.

And then…Fenris.

Hawke was concerned from the first taunt the demon had called out, pointed words at the Inquisitor about his particularly pointed head. Hawke was confident in his own mental fortitude, considering he more or less carried his fears around with him wherever he went. Probably not the healthiest thing, but Kirkwall still felt like it had happened last week. He wasn’t happy about it, but he could still kill things miserable.

But he’d seen what could happen to Fenris when the wrong words were said, even on accident. Sometimes nothing. Sometimes…

“ _Fenris_ ,” said the demon, voice low and invasive, vibrating somewhere in their chest. Hawke took a step closer to him. Fenris no doubt noticed, but didn’t comment. He was worried, too, then. “You think you’ve escaped,” said the demon, “but Danarius has family. Colleagues. Powerful friends. There are always bounties. There are always people willing to pay.”

Hawke glanced at Fenris, searching—but the elf just scowled, curling his fingers into fists. “I doubt the demon’s going to stop at that,” he said, quietly, jaw set. He was okay.

For the time being.

They killed demons, the voice did its rounds, and eventually came back, voice crawling its way into Fenris’ ears: “Those marks _are_ quite the masterpiece,” and then layered with another sound, another voice that Hawke couldn’t place, but Fenris must have known all too well, “Do they _feel_ as beautiful as they look?”

Fenris froze, eyes suddenly focused on something that none of them could see. Hawke went to his side, but kept his hands away.

“Fenris?” he said, voice low. “Do you know where we are?”

His eyes focused, and slowly scanned over the present company. The Iron Bull had the courtesy to block Dorian from his sight.

His eyes met Hawke’s.

“Hawke?”

“Yeah. We’re stuck in the Fade. You’ve been slicing demons in half. Are you with me?”

He placed his hand on Hawke’s face—felt his hair, his beard, let his hand drop down into the fur at Hawke’s collar. His gaze softened for a moment—and then he looked away, gripping his sword once again.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

~~~

Hawke’s feet were slipping on the ground, his hand shaking at his staff. He could hardly draw breath but he kept swinging at the creature behind them, beyond hope that the flames would do anything to slow it down. There were four of them lagging behind, three staffs and a bow, doing what they could while trying to make it to the rift, finally back to that forsaken fortress.

It wasn’t enough.

The demon was gaining on them, with all its hateful legs and eyes, and there was no way they were going to make it out. Even if they did, that thing would follow them to the fortress and destroy everything it found.

Unless someone took drastic measures.

Hawke grabbed hold of the Inquisitor’s arm, not giving himself time to think.

“Make sure he gets out.”

The Inquisitor turned to him, eyes wide.

“Don’t…don’t let him come after me,” Hawke said.

Comprehension dawned, and the Inquisitor nodded, expression hardening. No time for argument—this guy may have been the right leader for the Inquisition, after all.

He waved Dorian and Sera up the slope, and they immediately obeyed, leaving just the two of them.

The Inquisitor cast a quick barrier over Hawke, and then left, as well.

Hawke turned, just for a moment—just to get one last look.

~~~

Something was wrong.

Fenris was close enough to feel the pull of the rift, the disruption of the reality around them, and he heard feet on the ground behind him—to many to be only Alistair and the Qunari, but not enough to be everyone. Someone wasn’t coming with them.

He shouldn’t have stopped, not this close to getting out, but he turned. He looked behind him and saw Hawke, facing the beast, arms rising along with what had to be the last of his strength.

He wasn’t moving.

“Hawke,” said Fenris, not loud enough to be heard, not sure what this could mean. He moved to take a step backwards, but then the Qunari’s arm was around his waist, dragging him away.

“Time to go,” said the Bull, against his struggling, trying to find purchase on the ground.

Then they were at the fortress again, and Hawke was not, and all of the sudden Fenris realized what the plan was, what _stupid_ thing that man had thought up this time and, “ _Hawke_ ,” he yelled, as he was dragged away from the swirling green vortex, as the Inquisitor was the last to come out and it began to close. “No—Hawke, _Hawke!_ ”

He yelled, and kicked, and clawed gashes in the arms holding him, only thought to get _away_ , to get back where Hawke was and save him from his own damned _stupidity_ and—

Fenris was let go as the rift collapsed into itself, and he ran over to where it had been, residue of the Fade still hanging in the air like humidity after a storm, the memory of that place nearly close enough to touch.

The stone of the fortress was cold beneath his feet.

And Hawke was gone.

~~~

The journey back to Skyhold happened to someone else.

He heard people talking, felt the soreness from riding a horse too long, the cold from the mountains biting in when they were getting close. He ate, sometimes, when food was put in front of him, but he wasn’t there for any of it. His head, his heart, was an empty cage, and something crawled around inside of it that knew how to operate the bends of his arms to pull the food to his mouth.

He could remember what happened, like he had been told it as a story. The attempts at comfort that waned away as they were met with an empty stare. Retching on an empty stomach.

The words he didn’t share with Varric. The understanding that passed when the dwarf saw who wasn’t there in person, and who wasn’t there behind Fenris’ eyes.

It was with Varric that he first spoke, though it was days after they had gotten back to the fortress. He wasn’t really sure how many, but he could feel himself slowly seeping back into his body, as much as he hated it.

He was sitting in the borrowed room, staring at the wall, and Varric was standing in the doorway.

“How are you holding up?”

He at least had the courtesy not to speak to Fenris as if he was something fragile.

“How are _you_?” was Fenris’ answer.

“Right,” said Varric, with his usual sardonic chuckle. “Well, the tavern’s not half bad, if you feel like drowning your sorrows with me.”

Fenris frowned, the expression coming slowly to him. “No,” he said. “I can’t do that.”

“You _can’t_? C’mon, misery loves company…”

“I’m pregnant, Varric.”

The words hung heavy in the air for a moment, the dwarf stunned into silence.

“I never got to tell him,” Fenris heard himself continue, turning towards the floor. For the first time in those quiet few days, he felt a sob clawing its way up his throat. He didn’t let it.

“Oh, Fenris…”

His name sounded weird coming from Varric, in the place of the usual “Broody” or some reference to…well. It didn’t matter. He shook his head, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

“Just let me be.”

~~~

It was Merrill who showed up at Skyhold to take him back.

He wasn’t exactly informed about it, but he wasn’t surprised that Varric had asked someone to come get him. He knew the way home himself, but in the state he was in…

He would have thought the look in Merrill’s eyes was pitying if he didn’t know that she was hurting as well.

She was dressed in borrowed furs. They didn’t speak, at first. She just placed a gentle hand on his arm, slow enough to give him time to pull away.

Fenris wrapped his arms around her, and she held him close. When they separated, her eyes were misty.

“Oh, lethallin,” she said, voice catching. “I am so sorry.”

Fenris stared at her hands.

“Let’s go home.”

~~~

They hadn’t had much of a “home,” not after everything that happened at Kirkwall. They had taken off without much time to gather more than the necessities, and since then they had only been able to stay in one place for a few weeks at a time. People were after them, but conversely, they’d always had more than enough warning to get out when they needed to.

Or maybe—no.

Fenris had been without a home before. Even with how they were living…it was nothing like that. They didn’t always have the same floor to come back to, but he had the same—

He ended up at Merrill’s hovel, back in Kirkwall’s alienage. She was the best equipped to take him in on the short notice. That’s what she had been doing, after all—taking in those with nowhere else to go. Except she didn’t find Fenris a place to stay, instead insisting on taking him in herself.

“You might hate it, but you need to be around people. It’s just for a few weeks, I’m sure you can survive.”

He didn’t really have the energy to argue with her.

Besides, Merrill was good company. He didn’t always get along with her, but her insistent positivity and blunt caretaking may have been exactly what he needed. She talked to him when he couldn’t work up energy to speak. She made sure he ate, and got out of bed. “Come on, help me carry things back from the market.”

Fenris knew he wasn’t needed there, but Merrill made him feel like he was.

It was just the two of them at first.

That didn’t last very long.

Aveline got word of his arrival, and she came by with Donnic and a hot meal, and the four of them sat down and played a few rounds of cards together. Merrill talked about the people she had been taking in. Aveline told what few entertaining stories she had gathered from guard duty in the last few months. Sometimes they were telling the same story.

Fenris started helping Merrill, when he could. Sometimes it was just nice to have someone at your back while venturing into the more dangerous parts of the city. Sometimes it was just nice to know she had someone.

Isabela found them, too, and brought with her plenty of hugs and kisses and tales of adventure. They all got together and ended up at the Hanged Man, though they only partook in the sad excuse for food, for Fenris’ sake.

Isabela and Aveline almost got into a fight, but Merrill managed to deescalate it enough that they remained civil. Someone else at the bar got into a fight instead, and Aveline hardly had to do much more than stand up from their table in order to restore order.

Fenris laughed with the rest of them, even if it felt strange.

It was almost like being home again.

~~~

The creaking of Merrill’s front door woke him. It was late—but his alarm subsided at the sound of her voice, calm.

Whoever was here, they weren’t any danger.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

He could guess.

The door to his—temporarily—bedroom opened, and Merrill looked inside, her eyes glinting in the low light.

“Fenris?” she said. “He’s here.”

He stood up, and gestured for her to let him in. There wasn’t any point in waiting.

Merrill disappeared, and the door opened wider.

Anders walked in, holding a candle. Maybe it was just the light, but his eyes looked sunken and dull.

“Anders,” Fenris said, by way of greeting.

“Fenris,” the mage returned.

The familiar resentment stirred up in Fenris’ gut, but it was easy to ignore. It was more or less what he’d been doing lately.

“I never apologized,” he began, but Anders shook his head, setting the candle down.

“It’s not the time for that,” he said. “Besides, you didn’t ask me here to apologize. What do you need, Fenris?”

The elf huffed, turning to the floor. At any other time, his pride would have kept him from asking. But now…

“You’re the only healer I know I can trust,” he said. “I’m…with child. It’s his. And I need it to survive.” He looked up again, to the mage’s unchanged expression. “Do you understand?”

Anders nodded. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how much that will be if you’re living on a lowtown diet. It’s important to keep the child fed as well.”

“I’ll find money somehow.”

“Not by your usual ways, I hope.”

Fenris clenched his fists, almost relieved that he could feel angry again.

Anders sighed. “Alright,” he said. “There are potions, herbs…I’ll try to avoid magic if I can. My first suggestion is to avoid getting into fights. So, considering where we are, stay inside.”

“I’ll…try,” Fenris said, the words not coming easily to him. Part of him was still wary. Part of him still wanted to run.

The mage shifted his weight onto his staff, and sighed deeply.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Fenris frowned, and something in the back of his mind settled down, let him rest, for once.

That’s right. Anders was someone he could trust.

“I…miss him,” he said. He hadn’t told anyone that. They probably already knew, but something about saying the words out loud…

His shoulders felt heavy again, and he saw that weight mirrored on the person in front of him.

Anders just nodded, only slightly.

“…you look tired,” Fenris said, after a moment. “Can you rest here?”

He smiled, in what would have been a laugh on any other day. “I’ll ask Merrill if she has room to spare.”

Exhaustion hung on him like shackles. But he had always been like that, hadn’t he? Fenris just hadn’t ever taken the time to see.

Maybe he was just too tired to hate anymore.

~~~

It felt like he was floating just an inch above his body, like his thoughts were an afterimage of his actions. Some stranger was lifting him out of bed, talking to Merrill, going through with day-to-day activities necessary in order to get through the next one.

Fenris was curled up tightly somewhere else, somewhere quiet.

It would have felt familiar if he had really been feeling anything at all.

He sat on the mat Merrill had for a bed, staring at the wall. Staring at nothing at all.

Something pulled him forward, out of bed, and led him to a small cloth sack sitting in the corner, gathering dust. He sat down next to it and opened it, gently pulling out the few items sitting inside. A book. A letter. A shirt—still smudged with dirt, wrinkled now. He held it close, up to his face—

It still smelled like him.

Suddenly he was back in place, like a dislocated bone forced into its socket and a sob forced itself up through his throat. He curled up on himself, fingers digging into the fabric, gasping for breath.

“ _Why_?” he demanded of the empty room—“ _Why did you leave me here?_ ”

He grit his teeth, holding the cloth up to his face and trying, to no avail, to steady his breathing.

He missed him. He missed him so much, the one good thing to ever come into his life and promise to stay, the one reason he had the courage to keep on living, and now—

Now it was back as it was, back as it should be, as it was always going to be.

He was alone.


End file.
